Taste in Men
by Gwdihw
Summary: A different outcome to 'that kiss' between Thomas and Jimmy. Worried he might say something, Jimmy has a talk with Alfred. Smutty, slightly humorous, some sub / dom overtones and a bit of a crack ship, so not to be read too seriously.


I dream a lot. Strange dreams, like. I dream I'm flying or I dream I'm rich – people have said that points to ambition. But I have even stranger dreams than that. I've dreamt I had piano keys instead of fingers, I've dreamt I woke up nailed to the sea bed, I've dreamt I was pregnant. So when I realised that Mr Barrow was kissing me, Alfred standing flabbergasted in the doorway, there was no reason to suppose that this wasn't also a dream.

It took a split second for me to realise otherwise, pulling my sleep-addled body upright.

'Alfred, it's not what you think!' I spluttered. He believed me, surely. His expression was torn between the deepest shock and pure disgust – but that was at Mr Barrow, right, not at me?

Mr Barrow: he was still standing in my room like he thought he belonged there. His eyes were huge and pleading; I shook off his arms as he came forward to touch me. Perhaps, if I shook hard enough, I could shake myself out of this nightmare.

'...all there is between us,' Thomas was saying, but horror was starting to dawn in his eyes as he realised the magnitude of his mistake. I could almost have felt sorry for him then.

'There's nothing between us except my fist,' I hissed through gritted teeth, forcibly expelling him from my room.

Mr Carson shouted something in the hallway and Thomas mumbled a thin excuse, but I was past caring.

I kicked my bed angrily and threw myself on it; sleep would be impossible for the rest of the night. As my anger cooled, however, a new emotion surfaced, one I liked even less: fear. Not of Mr Barrow, who was embarrassing more than threatening, but of Alfred.

That look on his face – he'd clearly never seen anything like it before. Had he even known that men like that existed? Maybe not. He had 'country bumpkin' written all over him worse than his rash of his freckles. I, on the other hand...

I turned over on my bed, twisting my sheets.

I wasn't stupid; I knew the impression I gave people. Mr Barrow wasn't the first man to have tried to have his wicked way with me, and I'd had an inkling for a while that he might try something. On the other hand, I'd always assumed it would be when I was fully conscious so I could politely decline.

Truth be told, though I would never dare say this aloud to anyone, I'd always found being desired so very flattering, no matter who was doing the desiring. My cousin, Beth, used to look out for me because I never had an older sister and she always used to chide me for being a dreadful flirt and warn me I'd get my comeuppance one day – and it looked as though she was right.

It was an awful night and my eyes were puffy cracks in my face by morning.

I had to talk to Alfred about it. A face as dark as his might have meant that he would talk about it, maybe even report it. Even one word to that witch of an aunt could have proven disastrous.

Quarter to five. The hall boys would be coming to wake us soon but I absolutely had to talk to Alfred before he had a chance to see anyone else that day.

I was dreading confronting him; a light sweat had already broken out on my palms. Even at that late stage, I still hoped it might have been a nightmare. Saying that, dreaming of being kissed by a man didn't bode well either.

I knocked on his door and pushed it slightly, giving me an inch-wide view of Alfred lying on his bed. He was wide awake, his face still contorted by the same revulsion I had seen last night. Perhaps it had never left. Perhaps he had been glaring at his ceiling for hours.

'Alfred.' I sidled inwards and closed the door for discretion; this wasn't a conversation anyone else should overhear. I sat down on the bed but he continued to ignore me, eyes fixed unseeingly upwards.

'Alfred, you know I was asleep, right? You believe me?'

'I believe you,' he croaked; his mouth sounded dry and unpractised at using words.

'So, don't say anything, alright?' I asked. It wasn't much of a request. It was a silly misunderstanding which didn't need to be roared from the rooftops.

'You want him to get away with it?' Alfred sat up as though he'd been electrocuted and seized my shoulders. 'After he put his hands on you like that?'

'What do you mean "put his hands on me"? Nothing happened! I have you to thank for that, chum,' I said with a forced laugh.

'He might have.' His voice was barely discernible.

He was reacting much worse to the knowledge than I'd anticipated. I thought maybe once I'd put in in perspective for him we could have a good, derogatory laugh about Mr Barrow and forget about the whole thing.

What was it? Religion? Conservatism? The shock of seeing something too different to wrap your head around all at once?

'Look,' I said placatingly, like I might to a snarling wolfhound or a raving lunatic who needed to be tempted in from a high ledge. 'There's no need to blow this out of proportion.' Alfred whipped his head sideways to stare fixedly at me like he couldn't believe I existed. 'I mean, I know it's disgusting and everything!'

'Disgusting,' he laughed bitterly. 'It's vile!'

'Well, obviously,' I continued. 'But I don't want my name dragged into this. I don't want all the farmers from here to Northumberland sniggering behind my back if this got out.'

'It's no laughing matter,' Alfred said dully. He ran his fingers through his hair in clear distress. I'd never seen him like that.

'No, it isn't,' I admitted, trying to look serious and concerned, peeking up at his face as frequently as I dared to diagnose his emotions. 'But we can leave it be, can't we?' I asked again, and this time I heard a crack of desperation in my voice. _Please, Alfred, don't let them all find out. Don't let the maids snicker about me not being a real man!_

'Leave it be? You mean, forget about it?'

'Yes, exactly,' I agreed, relieved. We were getting somewhere!

He shook his head slowly. 'I can't forget seeing that. His lips on you.' Here, he buried his face in his palms. 'It turned my stomach, it did.'

I laughed nervously. 'Well, there's no need to paint a picture!'

He cleared his throat. 'No, but I think there is – because obviously you _don't understand_.' His intensity was starting to frighten me. I was half-afraid that he would pull out a crucifix and press it to my forehead to force the demon of sin out of me, and I shrank back a little.

'Don't understand what?' I asked in a small voice.

'Don't understand why it was so disgusting – so _very_ wrong!'

I wasn't entirely sure what the right answer was here, what would stop him looking so crazy-eyed.

'It's a sin against God,' I improvised. 'And it's not natural and it's a threat to society and the church and not very good for your health, probably! And indecent! And so many men were killed in the war that it's a crying shame to deprive women of the few available.' I wondered whether I'd given him the answer he was looking for.

Very slowly and meaningfully, Alfred leant forward. 'It's disgusting that he kissed you because nobody else should get to kiss you but me.'

Of all the things I was expecting, that was towards the bottom of the list, right after 'because it caused snowstorms' and 'it angered the Mayan gods'.

'I'm sorry,' I said in a voice which I hoped was calm and controlled. 'I went temporarily deaf there.'

Alfred shook his head slowly. 'You heard me. I was never going to tell you. I would have been happy just being in your presence and admiring your beauty from afar, but after last night...'

Admiring my beauty from afar? Mawkishly poetic, yes, but it made the narcissist buried deep inside me purr.

'Admire me from afar?' I asked lightly.

'You are the loveliest thing I've ever seen. I tried to hide it by pretending to like Ivy, but I don't know how anyone could ever believe it when I have you to look at. Your grace, your fairness – I think I've been dreaming about you before we even met!'

I know, I know – he was laying it on a bit thick, but I lapped it all up like a starved puppy.

I stood up and paced a little. The litany of love was quite pleasant, but there was no denying that men like that (and I seemed to draw them out of the woodwork, even the latent ones) eventually wanted something more than to praise my perfect face.

'Alfred,' I said, ready to deliver a speech I'd already given many times. 'I'm incredibly flattered but –'

He cut me off, getting out of bed and dropping down on his knees before me, his head hanging and his hands clasped. 'I'm not asking for anything. I'm not good enough to touch you, I know that.' He glanced upwards. 'But I just need you to know that I love you more than anything else in this world and if there's anything I can do to add to your happiness, no matter how small, I'll do it!'

I was enjoying it far more than I should have been. I'd always thought that if I could do any job the one most suited to my personality would be king of the universe, with all my faithful subjects feeding me peeled grapes and massaging oil into my body. Well, it looked as though I had already amassed one faithful subject who was invitingly submissive and could be counted on to do most anything.

'What would you do to make me happy?' I asked curiously.

His answer was immediate. 'Anything. Everything. You deserve every pleasure.'

He wasn't looking me in the eye – his gaze was lowered, overly deferential.

'For example,' I prompted. My hand apparently had a mind of its own because it ran along the line where the copper of his hair met his pale skin.

'I could drink you, if you like,' he murmured, his jaw twitching and his breath shallow.

'What do you mean drink me?' I asked. I wasn't a glass of pop.

'I could drink you dry,' he muttered, his eye line rising until it was level with my crotch. 'I could suck every drop from your twitching member. If you like.'

Heat filled my cheeks as I blushed – and there was me thinking that Alfred was the sheltered one.

I gulped, plunging my hand into red hair which was softer and finer than I had imagined it being, gripping it into an angry ball.

'And why would I want your mouth on me? You said yourself that you're not good enough.' I tugged, pulling his head to one side to expose his neck. His pale lashes fluttered downwards as he dropped his gaze again.

'Because I would make it feel so good for you,' he said simply.

It was too good an offer to resist. I nodded shakily.

In stifling silence, Alfred lifted his hands – slowly, so I would have a chance to change my mind. His fingers traced along the waistline of my long johns, his eyes darting up quickly to ask for acceptance. There was an odd sort of purity there considering what he was suggesting we do.

I nodded, already feeling breathless, already feeling that my heart would gallop out of chest. _Perhaps anticipation is enough – perhaps the ache for contact is so much more intense than the contact itself._

His hand cupping my crotch, gently grazing my member, quickly proved me wrong. No, touch was everything. The cotton felt good against my skin, rough but supple with Alfred's hand on the other side. He was a surprisingly good groper, but his eyes were still clear and humble – he looked almost concerned, as though worrying that I was okay with what was happening.

'Don't look at me!' I growled, my hands digging tighter into his hair; he visibly winced. Why was it so satisfying to be cruel to him? Because, for all his bickering and whining, he would never take a shot back – and now I knew why. He seemed to absorb my callousness, whatever barbed insult I cared to throw at him sinking into his milky skin as much as if I had left a physical mark.

Alfred continued to stroke me, arousing me further until, snorting with impatience, I started fidgeting, nudging my hips forward into his hand. I grabbed his wrist to urge him on.

_Such long fingers. Why has it taken me so long to notice what long fingers he has? Such _beautiful _long fingers!_

The friction was delicious but I wanted closer contact – I wanted the warmth of human skin, the intimacy of flesh against flesh. Alfred must have guessed because he peeled down the front of my long johns, exposing me.

I shouldn't have been worried. He'd already told me how beautiful I was, so it was only logical he thought me beautiful all over. However, you can never really tell and I'd always been shy about being naked. No matter how many press-ups and sit-ups I did, I could never quite banish my insecurity.

I needn't have worried.

'You're magnificent,' he murmured, running a finger along my length; I was almost certain he wasn't being sarcastic.

'Obviously,' I said. 'Now make good your promise. Show me what you can do.'

It took a while for him to give me what I want – he kept kissing the wrong parts. My stomach, my hips, the tops of my thighs all got licked tenderly before he went anywhere near my member, and he quietly resisted my attempts to push his head in the right direction.

'It'll be better for you if you wait,' Alfred muttered. 'If I bring you to the end slowly.'

I didn't want 'slowly' – I wanted to plunge into his mouth. His red, slightly parted lips seemed to taunt me. Even now, when he was kissing along my shaft, the kisses were soft and could almost have been described as chaste. Even Alfred's expression was demure. The contrast between the innocence of his manner and the lewdness of what we were doing was agonising.

'Open your mouth,' I ordered. He let his jaw drop gently. With one hand under his chin, I guided myself into Alfred's waiting mouth.

I'd planned on being impassive – after all, there was no sense in embarrassing myself. I'd planned on no more than the soft grunt of satisfaction that I usually let out when I frantically tore at myself late at night. I was not prepared at all to start moaning from the start. How could I have readied myself for it? It was a soft, hot wetness unlike anything else in the world. Alfred's tongue curled around my impossibly hard member, running over the veins, probing at every groove and sensitive spot like it was learning me by heart.

My hand in Alfred's hair twisted and snaked to the back of his head to pull him forward, but he needed no encouragement by now. His eagerness was charming, the way he sucked on me like he needed me, welcoming me in to the back of his throat. Groaning loudly, I let my head fall backwards.

The door opened. In my abandon, I'd forgotten that such things as time and reality existed; it had utterly escaped me that it had been steadily nearing six o'clock.

'Alfred, you're not going to say any— '

It wasn't a hall boy. It was Mr Barrow. He blinked and his face fell. For a second he looked crushed, but the expression was quickly replaced with outrage.

When he spoke, his voice was shaking with indignation. 'You turned me down for _Alfred_!' I didn't think a harder blow to his dignity had ever fallen. He tried to compose himself, and all the while Alfred and I were frozen, his lips around me. 'Well, there's no accounting for taste, I suppose!'

He slammed the door only to open it a second later. 'Alfred! Over _me_!' He shook his head as though the world had stopped making sense to him.

He left and we stayed still for a few more seconds.

'Well, you might as well finish me off,' I muttered, my hands returning to his hair, which I'd only just noticed wasn't an ugly shade of carrot at all but a shiny, vibrant copper. Must have been the light.


End file.
